


The Ice Prince and the Snow Maiden

by zjofierose



Series: zjo's winter holiday smorgasbord [13]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cats, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Companionable Snark, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Frottage, Holidays, Just Add Kittens, Kissing, M/M, POV Otabek Altin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: “Cat!” Yuri says, and dives into the alley they’d been walking past, “Cat catcat!”Otabek follows without question, because whatever sort of cat Yuri manages to pull out of that alley, he’s probably going to need a hand. Or a bandaid. Or several of both.--Otabek spends the end of December with Yuri in Russia.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: zjo's winter holiday smorgasbord [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531490
Comments: 17
Kudos: 97
Collections: The Yuri!!! on Ice Secret Santa - Edition 2019





	The Ice Prince and the Snow Maiden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittleimp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/gifts).



> Happy holidays to @kittleimp!! I hope you enjoy this little fic, and that you have a great holiday season!

“So then stupid  _ Viktor _ was saying that  _ piggy’s _ triple lutzes are cleaner than  _ mine _ , and I—”

“They are, though,” Otabek muses calmly. “They’re cleaner than anyone’s, even Viktor’s.”

Yuri stops where he’s standing in the cold and snowy street, his hands clenched into fists.

“How  _ dare _ you,” he spits, and Otabek smiles faintly. There’s a glint in Yuri’s eye he knows all too well - the delight of performative outrage. “I thought we were  _ friends _ .” He points an impassioned finger at Otabek’s person. “I invited you into my  _ home _ . You’ve been sleeping in my  _ bed _ .”

“Mm,” Otabek shrugs. “Can’t blame the truth on Viktor, though. Or me.”

“I’m going to throw out that disgusting mix of sticks and leaves you call tea.” Yuri flings his arms wide, stomping around as he warms to the topic. “I’m going to let Potya puke in your suitcase. I’m going to…”

“Wait,” Otabek puts out a hand, and Yuri blinks in surprise and dismay. Otabek shakes his head, sharp, and Yuri’s face clears at the acknowledgment that Otabek didn’t  _ actually _ believe him, wasn’t  _ actually _ offended. “I heard something.”

Yuri goes still, listening with Otabek. For a long moment, the only sounds are their own breaths and the occasional rush of a car down the slushy street. Then it comes again, and Yuri’s whole face illuminates. 

“ _ Cat _ !” he says, and dives into the alley they’d been walking past, “Cat cat  _ cat _ !”

Otabek follows without question, because whatever sort of cat Yuri manages to pull out of that alley, he’s probably going to need a hand. Or a bandaid. Or several of both. Otabek digs out his phone and flips on the flashlight feature, shining it into the dark mouth between the tall brick buildings in time to see Yuri’s front half disappear over the edge of a dumpster. Otabek steps forward just in time to wrap an arm around the rest of Yuri before he overbalances, trying not to pay too much attention to how this puts his cheek squarely on Yuri’s slim but well-muscled glute. 

“Lower me down a little further, Beka, I can’t reach,” Yuri grunts, and Otabek obligingly loosens his grip around Yuri’s knees enough that there’s a sudden scrabbling in the metal dumpster, an outraged hiss, and an  _ aha! _ from Yuri. Then he’s being kicked soundly in the shins while Yuri drops to the ground, hand cupped protectively around his scarf and eyes shining in the sodium glow of the streetlights. 

Otabek resists the urge to sigh. “Just the one?”

“I think so,” Yuri mutters, busily wrapping his scarf around a small squirming lump. He tips his face up, pleading. “You could check though, if you wanted.”

Otabek’s never even bothered to deny the effect Yuri’s big green eyes have on him, so there’s no sense in pretending now. He takes a firmer grip on his phone and heaves himself up and over the edge of the dumpster, bracing his feet on the side as he shines the light around the metal insides. As expected, the dumpster contains a mildly disgusting scattering of trash, and Otabek thinks gratefully for a moment of how the bitter cold means there’s no stench. There are, however, no additional kittens that he can see. Still, he kicks the side a couple times for good measure, making a deafening bang that would have startled anything trying to hide in the corners.

“Nothing,” he says when he drops to his feet again, swiping at the scattered bits of rust smearing the front of his jacket. “We should get back.”

“Yeah,” Yuri nods distractedly, already heading for the mouth of the alley, “let’s go home.”

\--

“How’s Potya going to take this?” Otabek asks as they climb the stairs to Yuri’s studio apartment. He moved out of Yakov’s over a year ago when he turned seventeen, but Otabek has only been here once before, and still thinks of it as new. 

“Potya knows she is the queen of my heart,” Yuri declares, and Otabek snorts quietly. “She’ll be fine.” He pauses to unlock the door. “And if she’s not, we’ll take  _ kotenok _ here to one of the hags.”

Otabek pauses to imagine the look on Lilia Baronovskaya’s face if they show up on her doorstep at midnight with a trash kitten, and shivers in the warmth of the apartment. 

“Stop being such a dour stick-in-the-mud,” Yuri says, and shoos them all in. “It’ll be fine.”

\--

It  _ is _ fine, after a few hours. Before it is fine, though, there is a bath that begins with Yuri and the kitten locked in the bathroom and yowling at equal volume; proceeds with Otabek entering to find a similarly soaked and furious Yuri and kitten before carefully scruffing the kitten with his strong hand and directing Yuri on how to aim the hand sprayer; and ends with Otabek carefully applying antibiotic and bandaids to Yuri’s arms, neck, and chest. He does not linger overlong on the view of Yuri’s pale, lean stomach, or the perfect arch of his delicate neck - their attraction to each other is longstanding, but the acknowledgment of it is recent, and this is neither the time nor the place. Still, he does bend to press a careful kiss to the dip of Yuri’s clavicle, and smiles to himself at the satisfied hum Yuri makes in response. 

“How did you learn to be so good with them?” Yuri asks, shrugging on a clean sweatshirt and regarding the kitten balefully where it’s taken up residence behind the toilet. It returns his stare with matching disrespect, going so far as to pull up its tiny pink lips and bare its teeth. 

“My sister,” Otabek tells him, regarding them both with amusement. The kitten turned out to be white under all the dirt, and is a perfect little fluffy snowball of rage. The affection he feels must be nearly Pavlovian in nature, he thinks, looking at it, and he herds Yuri out the door, pulling it shut behind him. “My family lives outside of town, and there were always cats around. My sister liked to catch the kittens and play with them, but my mother wouldn’t allow dirty cats in the house.”

Yuri bursts into laughter as Otabek finds a small bowl and fills it with water, opening two cans of Potya’s food. He sets one down for the queen herself, who has descended from her perch by the window where she’d retreated in the face of a yowling stranger and is now purring and rubbing around his legs, and then takes the other along with the water into the bathroom. He sets them down, earning himself an indignant hiss from the environs of the sink, and retreats, leaving the door open a crack in case the small visitor decides to be brave after eating. 

When he comes out, Yuri is yanking a long, narrow box out of the closet, swearing as it abruptly pops free and propels him across the room to fall backward onto his bed. Otabek lets him wrestle with it in peace, washing his hands and turning on the kettle as he watches Yuri wrangle the box upright. Dancing and skating are the only things that Yuri does gracefully, and Otabek could watch forever as he fights and flails his way through the rest of his life. 

Yuri had admitted to him once in a fit of pique that he resented Otabek’s careful ease in himself, to which Otabek had nodded thoughtfully and agreed that being clumsy was indeed a terrible price to pay for such a collection of gold medals. Yuri had yelled indignantly, tried to cuff Otabek around the ear, but overbalanced and fell into a snowbank. Otabek had laughed so hard he had to sit down.

He’d managed to explain, later, once he’d caught up to the deeply offended Yuri, that he  _ liked _ how Yuri was off the ice, that it made him respect Yuri even more for what he could do in skates or in dance shoes. “Think of Viktor,” Otabek had said, and Yuri had snarled at him, but stayed pressed against his side. “Everything he does is graceful. He’s a swan, beautiful and perfect.” Yuri scuffed his shoes against the concrete in front of them. “Now think of Yuuri.” 

“You  _ better _ not be comparing me to the piglet,” Yuri said, his voice sharp and scathing. 

“Yes, God forbid I compare you to the current World Champion,” Otabek said, and rolled his eyes. Yuri opened his mouth, and Otabek laid a finger across it. “Listen. How is Yuuri off the ice?”

Yuri had shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know,” he said. “Normal? Boring? Forgettable?”

“Exactly,” Otabek nodded. “Now, who’s more interesting to watch transform? Nikiforov, who’s always impeccable in every way? Or Katsuki, who seems like a schlubby nerd?”

“ _ Katsudon _ ,” Yuri sighed in exasperation. “But…”

“I like watching you,” Otabek said, “and I always have. I can’t look away.”

Yuri exhaled hard and sagged against him, and Otabek had wrapped his arm around him for the first time, pulling Yuri against him and not letting go.

In the here and now, Otabek sips his tea and watches as Yuri wrestles the box open to an explosion of fake fir, tossing the cardboard aside and taking a branch to the face as the tree opens itself with enthusiasm. 

“Come on, you sadist,” Yuri growls, “less tea, more helping.”

“You look like you’re handling things just fine,” Otabek tells him, and Yuri bares his teeth. 

“Get your hot ass over here and  _ help me _ , Beka, or I swear to god I will hide that kitten in your carry-on when I take you to the airport.”

“Mm.” Otabek takes another drink. “Ask nicely.”

“I will burn your  _ skates _ . I will throw out your team  _ jacket _ . I will let Viktor pick your next free-skate costume and tell you I did it, and you will skate in sequins and feathers  _ because I asked it. _ ”

Otabek sips his tea.

“ _ Beka _ ,” Yuri hisses, “please.”

Otabek smiles and stands. “How can I help?”

\--

“What are you going to call the kitten?” Otabek asks Yuri later, watching as the kitten sniffs carefully around the foot of the couch. 

“I don’t know,” Yuri scowls, even as he trails a shoelace in front of it, laughing in delight as its butt wiggles in preparation for the pounce. “You should name it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Yuri snuggles up under Otabek’s arm, as still as he ever really is, hand twitching the shoelace even as he curls into Otabek’s ribcage. “You’re the one who heard it.”

“Hm.” Otabek watches the kitten, tiny and fearless and bright white in the dim light of the room. “Okay.  _ Кар Кыз.” _

Yuri scrunches his nose and peers up at Otabek. “What? That sounds dumb. What’s that mean?”

“She’s Аяз Ата’s granddaughter. She wears white clothes and shows up at the new year.” Otabek thinks for a moment, translating. “Snow Girl, I guess,” he says, “or Snow Maiden. I think you have her in Russia, too.”

“Oh!” Yuri’s face brightens with understanding. “Yeah. Frost Father and Snow Maiden. Снегу́рочка.” He grins down at the kitten, and Otabek’s heart squeezes. “That’s perfect, Beka.”

Otabek presses a kiss to Yuri’s cheek. “I do have impeccable taste,” he agrees blandly, and Yuri shoves him.

\--

With the lights off, the only illumination in the room is the ambient light from the street and the faint, multi-hued glow of the Christmas lights. They dance across the pale lines of Yuri’s torso like fairy lights as Otabek pulls Yuri’s shirt over his head, breathless at the long lines of Yuri’s arms, the delicate curl of his clavicle and the elegant arch of his neck.

He always feels a little breathless around Yuri. He’s used to it by now.

“C’mon, Beka, you too,” Yuri whines, grabbing at the front of Otabek’s shirt. “I’m cold, come warm me up with your goddamn furnace-self.”

“You’re beautiful,” Otabek says instead, reaching out to run his hands down the indentations of the muscles that wrap around Yuri’s ribs. It’s a little too reverent, a little too serious, for what they’re doing here, but Yuri doesn’t even blink, just yanks Otabek’s shirt off over his head and tosses it away into the rest of the room.

“What do you want?” Otabek asks, his hands coming to settle at the sharp cut of Yuri’s hips. He’s concave where Otabek is convex, the difference between Yuri’s whip-thin frame and Otabek’s own stocky solidity readily apparent. Otabek lets his thumb stroke a soothing refrain beneath Yuri’s belly button while Yuri considers the options.

“Pants off,” Yuri decides, lifting his hips and letting Otabek slide his track pants down his long, slender legs. “And yours.” 

Otabek just nods, lifting the covers of Yuri’s bed so Yuri can slide in before sliding his own jeans down his legs and to the floor, climbing in after Yuri in nothing but his boxer briefs. The physical side of their relationship has come slowly, which is only fair, Otabek thinks, given the swift intensity coloring everything else about them. He doesn’t mind - he has all the time in the world for Yuri, even if they are only sometimes together in the flesh. It doesn’t matter. Otabek will give Yuri as much time, as much everything, as Yuri will let him.

He slides in under the covers, pulling Yuri’s chilly length up against him. Yuri’s gotten taller, his long legs stretching down past the end of Otabek’s toes and his head higher on the pillow than Otabek’s own. He might yet end up as tall as Victor, but Otabek isn’t convinced it’s likely - Victor is tall for a figure skater, and got there early - Yuri’s growth spurts are all coming late, and though they come on suddenly, the results have been less drastic than Yuri had feared.

“Your family doesn’t do anything for Christmas,” Yuri states, and Otabek smiles. 

“It’s only occurring to you to ask that now, after I’m already here to stay until New Year’s?”

Yuri pushes at him, but it’s half-hearted. He shivers as Otabek’s body pulls away, squirming immediately back into the warmth of Otabek’s bare chest. “You didn’t have to come,” he says, and Otabek kisses him, their mouths warm and soft in the chilly dark of the room. 

“No, we don’t. The celebrations are on New Year’s night, not Christmas. Just like here.”

Otabek can feel Yuri frown against him. “But you’re not leaving till the third.”

“No,” he agrees, and lets his hands wander, stroking Yuri’s skin soothingly, idle touches with no intent beyond connection, beyond comfort and companionship. 

“Will you miss it?” Otabek kisses him again, because as much as he loves quiet, biddable Yuri, he doesn’t like it when the insecurity surfaces, the certainty that everyone who doesn’t leave Yuri resents being with him.  _ Would you rather be with them than me _ is the real question being asked, and Otabek never wants the possibility to gain root in Yuri’s mind.

“I don’t know,” Otabek tells him, “I think you’ve got pretty much everything I need to celebrate. This is Russia, yes? You do have both potatoes and vodka?”

Yuri snorts. “Yes. I think we can locate both.” 

“Good. And we’ve already found the Snow Maiden.”

“Mmhmm,” Yuri’s voice ticks up in pleasure as Otabek’s hands start to wander with more intent. His hips are squirming a little against Otabek’s own, and for all that they’re only a couple years apart, sometimes Otabek is forcibly reminded that Yuri is eighteen and inexperienced, running on instinct and what feels good. “ _ Beka _ .”

Not that he’s much better, if he’s honest, Otabek thinks, slipping his knee between Yuri’s own and pulling it up so that it provides an anchor for Yuri’s motion. He can feel Yuri against him, and this isn’t going to last long for either of them, but Otabek can’t bring himself to care. Yuri’s beautiful in the dim, multi-hued light of the room, and warm, and soft, and Otabek would stay here every day if he could, would wake up with Yuri and go to sleep with Yuri, train with Yuri and compete against Yuri. It’s not possible, though, at least not yet, and so he cups one hand around Yuri’s hips, bringing him in tight and steadying the rhythm.

“Is there someone for me to kiss at midnight?” Otabek asks, and Yuri makes a face.

“That’s not a Kazakh thing,” he says, and Otabek can’t help but laugh. “What are you,  _ American _ ?”

“Well,” Otabek says, pulling back ever so slightly, “if there’s not, I guess I might have to go back to…”

His words are stopped by Yuri’s mouth on his own, fierce and demanding, one hand grasping a little painfully at the back of Otabek’s hair while the other wraps around his shoulders. He can feel the dampness of Yuri’s briefs against his belly, and it twists in his gut with a sudden sharp want, the knowledge that Yuri is here,  _ with _ him,  _ for _ him, undone  _ because _ of him. He slips a hand below the cloth covering Yuri’s backside, and Yuri jerks hard against him, fingers clutching sharp as claws at Otabek’s shoulder and neck as Yuri pants out his name before falling pliant against him.

Otabek thinks about what it means, that Yuri is here in his arms, damp breaths against the curve of his neck and long blond hair halfway across his cheek. He lets himself feel the heated sticky patch of Yuri’s briefs that is currently pressed against his stomach as Yuri winds a lazy leg up over Otabek’s hips, pushing Otabek’s need into the bend of Yuri’s hip, and lets himself fall. 

“I’ll kiss you every New Year’s,” Yuri declares after a long moment, bodies still intertwined and mess cooling between them. “Here, or in Kazakhstan, or Japan or...fucking…  _ wherever _ .”

It’s the same tone of voice Yuri uses to tell Victor that he’s never getting his records back, or to tell Potya that she’s the most magnificent beast to ever walk the earth, which means that Yuri is utterly and completely serious.

Otabek kisses him, hard and thorough, unrelenting. “ _ Good _ ,” he pulls back to say, and then kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> [Ayaz Ata (Аяз Ата)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayaz_Ata) and [Kar Kiz (Кар Кызы)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snegurochka) are the Kazakh equivalents of the Russian/Slavic Ded Moroz and Snegurotchka, respectively. Ded Moroz is basically a Russian Father Christmas character, and Snegurotchka (Snow Maiden) is his granddaughter and helper. Also, as is mentioned in the show, Christmas is not much celebrated in Russia (or Kazakhstan or the rest of the former Soviet block), with New Year's being the focus for winter festivities.


End file.
